


Disarticulation

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Shower Sex, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23870914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: "Will wakes bleary and, to his great surprise, not in pain. He remembers, vaguely, like a waking dream, meeting and slaying the Great Red Dragon with Hannibal. Absent the pain of his battle wounds, he wonders whether it even happened at all. Maybe Hannibal did what Hannibal does best and slithered right out from under everyone's fingers, taking Will with him. He tries to open his eyes to scan his surroundings, but finds them too heavy and uncooperative. He decides that maybe he doesn't care where he is anymore."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 312





	Disarticulation

Will wakes bleary and, to his great surprise, not in pain. He remembers, vaguely, like a waking dream, meeting and slaying the Great Red Dragon with Hannibal. Absent the pain of his battle wounds, he wonders whether it even happened at all. Maybe Hannibal did what Hannibal does best and slithered right out from under everyone's fingers, taking Will with him. He tries to open his eyes to scan his surroundings, but finds them too heavy and uncooperative. He decides that maybe he doesn't care where he is anymore. He either is or he isn't and Hannibal either is or he isn't and neither one of them can be without the other.

As if from a great distance, he can hear Hannibal talking or singing quietly. The words are jumbled or, maybe, in a language that Will doesn't know. He tries to focus on it to keep himself grounded in what is real as his awareness starts to swirl around him. 

There is feeling in his limbs, even though they don't quite feel like they belong to him. He can feel warmth and something wet on them. His eyelids finally crack open and he is met with the image of Hannibal bent over his body, cleaning the various wounds the dragon had inflicted on him. There is a thick bandage at his waist. Will wants to touch it, but can't do more than lift his fingers. Still, Hannibal notices the motion and looks up at Will's face with something like relief and adoration. 

"I had worried you might not wake up," Hannibal confesses. "We are safe here until we recover more." 

Will fights to stay awake when his eyes slip closed. His fingers reach for Hannibal again. Hannibal seems to understand and slips his hand into Will's, squeezing slightly. Will is warm and tired and nothing hurts, so he drifts back into the most restful sleep he's had in months. 

When he next wakes, there is a dull ache in his face and most of his body. His eyes open, though not without protest. The room spins around him, but he's relatively certain it isn't one he knows anyway. 

"You're awake," a voice he does know speaks next to him, directly in his ear. Hannibal is lying down next to him on whatever bed this is.

"Whe-nnnngh" Will stops mid-word when the pain in his face becomes overpowering. His eyes squeeze shut against it.

"Shh, shh, don't talk. The Dragon did quite the damage to your face. We're somewhere in the Atlantic ocean, on a boat that I kept anchored on the bluffs in hopes we might someday find ourselves here." Hannibal sighs and Will can feel the motion in the mattress. 

Will's arm is heavy when he picks it up, but he forces it off the mattress to rest his hand on Hannibal's arm anyway. He isn't sure exactly why, given his persistent hatred of physical contact and their history, but he feels pulled to do it so he does. In the middle of the Atlantic, who is there to judge? Hannibal flinches briefly under the touch, which should give Will some satisfaction, he thinks, knowing that the Chesapeake Ripper flinches at his touch. It doesn't, though. If he had to put a word to the feeling, he thinks 'guilt' is probably the most accurate. He almost wishes he could talk so he could tell Hannibal about it. He's thankful that his eyes are closed. 

"You are, as always, unpredictable, dear Will. Would you like the painkillers again? I had thought you might like to wake, but I do not wish to make you suffer." 

Will swallows thickly, then shakes his head. 

"Very well. Before it alarms you, there is an IV in your arm. The one that is touching me. There is nothing attached to it at this moment, but please leave it in case you need pain medication later." There's something very vulnerable in Hannibal's voice. It tugs at the strings of Will's empathy.

"Mmhm," Will answers without opening his mouth and finds that it hurts significantly less. He can feel sleep clawing at the backs of his eyes once again. 

An especially rough wave sends pangs of pain through Will's body. His fingers curl into Hannibal's arm, tugging him closer driven by the animal need for comfort. Hannibal obliges, shifting closer with a soft grunt of his own discomfort. Without thinking too hard about it, Will curls up into his side, resting his arm on top of Hannibal's chest. If he feels the familiar cold in his veins and tastes the sweet plasticky flavor of morphine in the back of his mouth, he doesn't protest. He slips back to sleep once again, this time with one of Hannibal's arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

The next time Will's eyes open, he doesn't think Hannibal has moved at all since he drifted or was guided to sleep. Hannibal's face is soft and unguarded in his own sleep and through his haze Will can see the various cuts and purpling bruises on his face. He wants to touch them, but is still unsure whether he wants to drag his fingers over them and apologize for all the ways they got there or press his fingers in and watch Hannibal squirm. 

"Has my body taught you anything my crime scenes could not," Hannibal asks when his eyes open. 

Will thinks about it for a moment before he shakes his head, not daring to open his mouth. 

"Your wound is still healing. Best not to talk." 

So they don't talk. Or Will doesn't talk. Hannibal occasionally talks in Will's direction, though he seems to be content with Will's nonverbal responses. Will is less surprised than he thinks he should be that it's so easy for him to give up verbal communication, especially with Hannibal. Despite (or because of) everything they have done to each other, he can't think of anyone who knows his mind better than Hannibal.

They share a small mattress in the cabin of a small boat. Some days, they wake with different pieces of themselves touching one another, as if they just couldn't help it once they were asleep. Will fishes off the side of the boat and delights in the way that his stomach flips when he pulls in something fresh for them to eat. Not because he cares whether they eat canned beans every day or not, but because it brings a spark to Hannibal's eyes when he gets to prepare something fresh. After a few days, the side of Will's face hurts less. He thinks he probably could talk without the searing pain he had when he first woke up, but he doesn't try. He doesn't need to.

Their last night together on the boat isn't any different than any other. Will wonders, when he finds out, if he might have done something different if he knew. They fall asleep without touching, but migrate together once their eyelids have closed. Will wakes with one of Hannibal's arms slung over his waist and thinks it might be his new favorite place. 

Hannibal docks the ship somewhere along the coast of Nova Scotia where he apparently owns a small cabin, still in the name of some other unknown, deceased relative for reasons that Will is sure are completely related to Hannibal's illegal activities. 

"But the taxes are paid on time, so who's to care?" Hannibal says as he opens the door to the cabin and ushers Will inside.

Will looks around, surprised by the layer of dust that has settled over the furniture covers. Somehow, he hadn't imagined Hannibal being able to live with the thought of dust anywhere near something he owned, even if only in spirit. 

"I believe the master bedroom is the entire loft upstairs and there should be the first bedroom down this hall here," Hannibal gestures with one hand while he sets to work tugging the sheets off of the furniture. 

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to Will until this very moment that there might be a second bed wherever they were going. The nature of their arrangement was such that they had shared a bed out of necessity, but now that need was no longer there and Will found himself struggling to process the fact that soon he would once again be sleeping alone. 

"We'll have some groceries delivered tomorrow," Hannibal says, maybe to Will and maybe to himself. 

Will helps with what he can, tugging sheets off of furniture and leaving them folded in the pile with Hannibal's. Even though Hannibal warns him, tells him he's retrieving the fish that Will had caught for them, Will follows when Hannibal walks out the door to go back to the boat. At least some part of him is afraid that if he doesn't stay with Hannibal, he'll disappear into the wind. 

"At least there should still be enough spices between what is here and what was on the boat to prepare something edible," Hannibal says with a smile once he's back in the kitchen. 

Will watches as Hannibal guts and cleans one of the fish, a Striped Bass. It was the only one that Will had been able to identify on sight, but it didn't matter much anyway. Hannibal could identify everything he caught. Any words he nearly spoke were quickly swallowed down. 

"Feel free to sit anywhere," Hannibal tells him. "I'm afraid we don't have a proper dining table yet." 

Somewhere at the base of Will's skull, a piece of his brain wants to sit down on his knees next to Hannibal's feet. He's tempted to do it, if only to find out what Hannibal would do in response. He thinks, unwillingly, of a porn video he saw once where one of the men acted like a dog. His partner had pat and praised him while he laid his head against his thighs. Even after pushing the idea away, Will has to admit to himself there is a certain appeal to it. 

They eat in familiar silence, sitting on the couch. Will can see how much it bothers Hannibal to be eating without a proper table. He lets their knees rest against each other, a quiet gesture meant to comfort. 

With plates cleared, washed, dried, and put away, neither of them can really seem to justify staying away from their beds any longer. Will doesn't even catch what Hannibal says, too focused on the fact that he's getting up and walking away - going to bed. His own bed. Away from Will. 

He does catch the grunt and the way that Hannibal favors one side when he tries to climb the ladder to the loft. Will doesn't think before he crosses the room and puts a hand on Hannibal's wrist, gently tugging him down the hall to the guest room. 

"Alright," Hannibal nods. "Anything you want, darling." 

The term of endearment brings a blush to Will's cheeks. One that he's sure he can't hide from Hannibal. He strips down and climbs into bed without looking for confirmation of that fact. Hannibal lies down beside him not long after, sticking to his own side of the bed - ever the gentleman. 

Will growls softly, as close as he's been to speaking in weeks, and curls into Hannibal's side. He tosses one leg over Hannibal's waist for good measure and hopes the gesture will be enough to get his point across.  _ Stay. I need you.  _ The only reply is a soft sigh from Hannibal and a gentle hand in his hair, but it's enough for Will. Anything Hannibal gives him is enough. 

The following evening, Hannibal goes again to the ladder towards the master bedroom. He doesn't make it far enough to show the wince of pain at the ladder before Will is grasping at his arm. 

"Okay," Hannibal murmurs. 

They crawl into bed easily, with Will plastering himself to Hannibal's side immediately. Hannibal buries his nose in Will's hair, inhaling deeply. Will isn't sure when the last time either of them properly bathed was. He's sure his hair smells like dead fish and sweat. Hannibal doesn't seem to mind, though. He keeps his face nuzzled into Will's hair until they're both fast asleep. 

Will dreams of falling into the ocean, but this time he loses his grip on Hannibal when they fall. The waves yank them apart and water floods his mouth. No matter how hard he swims, Hannibal only drifts further away.

"Hannibal!" Will wakes from the night terror clawing at the sheets. He's startled by the sound of his own voice, almost unfamiliar. He's disoriented, unsure where or when or who he is for seconds that feel like hours. 

Hannibal pulls him in tighter, shushing him. "I'm here, sweet boy. Oh how I have missed the sound of my name on your lips." 

Will is barely aware of himself. He presses his face into Hannibal's chest, still shaking. He's drenched in sweat, but Hannibal isn't complaining so he doesn't pull away. "Hannibal…" Will murmurs softly. Hannibal is the only thing that he knows for sure is real. 

"Right here, darling." Hannibal presses his palm to the side of Will's head. "You'll always know where to find me."

Will wants nothing more than to crawl directly inside of Hannibal's chest and make his home there. He thinks in that exact moment he might understand, almost in perfect reverse, how Hannibal could want to eat him. He presses in tighter, until it hurts the still-raw wound in the side of his face. His hands come up to fist into Hannibal's shirt. He falls asleep like that, hands twisted in the fabric of Hannibal's shirt, mind swimming with thoughts of what it's like to love someone so much you want to consume or be consumed by them. 

In the early hours of the morning, Hannibal tries to slip himself out of Will's grip on his shirt. Will's hands clamp down through the fabric, pricking his nails into skin. Will is aware of it happening as if he's watching it from above, couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. When Hannibal lies back against the pillows and buries a hand in his hair, he slips easily back into sleep. 

Will wakes again some time later to find that Hannibal stayed in bed with him. There is still a hand at the base of his skull, idly petting at his hair. 

"I'd like to wash your hair," Hannibal murmurs. 

Will groans, but nods into Hannibal's chest.

"We can use the shower. Our wounds should be well enough for that by now." Hannibal talks as he's moving out of Will's grip to sit on the edge of the bed. "Neither of us should do so unsupervised." 

A slight smile crosses Will's face and he forces himself up and into the "guest" bathroom, currently serving as their master bath. Hannibal runs the shower hotter than Satan's asshole. Will lets him without complaint because the look on Hannibal's face when he first steps under the water is the most pure image of bliss he's ever seen. He follows soon after, finally tearing his eyes off Hannibal's face to get a look at his wound for the first time. 

The stitches are perfect. He can see, in his mind, how hard it must have been for Hannibal to stitch his own wound. On a boat, no less. He can see the steeled look of determination on Hannibal's face as he worked. He wonders, briefly, where he himself was when Hannibal was stitching himself up. He thinks he must have been only a few feet away. He hopes Hannibal took care of his own wounds first. In case of emergency, put the oxygen mask on yourself before helping your child. He thinks if he were anyone else, Hannibal would have dressed his own wounds without a second thought. But Will isn't anyone else and Hannibal has shown time and time again how inconvenient his affections for him are. He thinks he'll probably never ask for the exact details. 

He doesn't realize that his fingers are hovering over the stitches until Hannibal's hand is gripping his wrist, guiding him to feel along the edges of the wound where it's healing. His eyes can't decide whether they want to watch Hannibal's face or their hands moving along the wound path. With his fingers on Hannibal's skin, possibly the most vulnerable part of him, Will thinks he wants nothing more than to wrap himself around Hannibal and protect him from the world. No matter how much he knows that the world needs much more protection from Hannibal. 

"I had wondered," Hannibal says, voice breaking. "Whether you wished to soothe my wounds or tear them open again." 

Will looks up at Hannibal's face. He feels like he should say something, but has nothing to say. 

"No need," Hannibal tells him. "I understand." 

"You don't," Will whispers, shaking his head. 

Hannibal smiles softly. 

Will continues, even though the words feel foreign in his mouth. "I want to hold onto you so tight you become a part of me." He brings his fingers up to Hannibal's face even though Hannibal is still clutching his wrist. "I want to swallow you down and keep you inside my ribcage where nothing can hurt you." 

"Oh, darling." Hannibal turns his face into Will's hand. 

Will surges forward and kisses Hannibal without thinking. He forgets that they're both naked and in the shower until his own cock is brushing against Hannibal's thigh. When he tries to pull away, both of Hannibal's hands come around his back to hold him in place. They stay pressed together, frozen in time, for several soft moments. They share each other's breath and Will wonders if Hannibal had to force air into his lungs when they came up from the ocean. He feels a sense of loss at not having the memory of that if it did happen. 

One of Hannibal's hands finds its way to the soft flesh of Will's stomach. Goosebumps rise on Will's flesh even under the heat of the shower. Hannibal drags the pad of his thumb over one corner of the scar on Will's stomach. "I am already a part of you," he says quietly.

Will shakes his head. "That's a surgical scar. Where you amputated yourself from me."

"Will," Hannibal chokes and Will thinks he might actually be crying. "You can't believe that."

"I did," Will confesses, pressing their foreheads together. "Maybe I still do. I don't know." 

"As your therapist, I think we should explore these issues of abandonment," Hannibal tells him in a tone that is far too clinical. 

"As your co-conspirator, I think you should shut the fuck up and kiss me," Will growls.

"So crude," Hannibal breathes, but kisses Will anyway.

Hannibal's kisses are slow and gentle, like he hasn't been waiting and endured years of torture for this moment. It drives Will crazy. He bites at Hannibal's lips, digs his nails into his hips, anything to get Hannibal to show him a little bit of darkness. But none comes. 

When Will finally pulls away, he sobs into the side of Hannibal's neck. "You waited so long."

"I would wait forever for you, darling." One of Hannibal's hands finds its way to Will's hair and cups the back of his head, still so gentle. 

Their hips rock together, savoring the feeling or each other's bodies. Will touches Hannibal everywhere. Gentle where there are still healing wounds and rough where the skin was left intact. Hannibal's hands grip onto his hips, squeezing when Will does something that he especially likes. 

"Can you forgive me?" Hannibal asks in a breathy voice. 

Will nods over his shoulder. "I- nnngh- I forgave you in Italy."

Hannibal gasps. His teeth scrape softly against Will's shoulder. Will trembles, feeling the familiar coils of pleasure low in his stomach. His cock jumps lightly against Hannibal's thigh. One of Hannibal's hands leaves his hip and wraps around his length. It takes only a few firm strokes before Will is spilling between them, shaking apart under Hannibal's hands. 

He drops to his knees in front of Hannibal and takes him into his mouth. He's thicker than Will expects and it pulls and the stitches on the side of his face. It aches, but the ache reminds him that they are both alive and together. He takes Hannibal as deep as he can until he starts to gag. One of Hannibal's hands runs through his hair, gripping gently at his curls. With a soft grunt and tug of Will's hair, Hannibal comes down his throat. Will tries to swallow but gags and sputters. When he watches the fluid spin down the drain, he realizes that it's tinted pink with his blood. Hannibal's thumb drags underneath the wound on the side of his cheek, wiping more blood away. 

"You've torn your stitches," he tells Will.

Will growls in frustration. "I can't- I want to do everything all at once but," he stops moving to pant a few times. "Everything hurts."

Hannibal kisses Will's shoulder. "We have time. I'm not going anywhere."

"We wouldn't survive it," Will says. 

Hannibal turns the water off as it starts to cool down and pulls a towel in from the rack outside the shower. Will is quiet while Hannibal dries him off. He thinks about Bedelia asking him once if he ached for Hannibal. He wasn't sure then what that might feel like. With Hannibal's hands on skin, he recognizes the ache in his bones. It's the same ache he's always felt when Hannibal was out of his reach. Only now, Hannibal is here right in front of him and Will had to believe that there's no force on earth strong enough to keep them apart. 


End file.
